There are a lot of books out there on how to make a good living as a self-published writer.  Some of them offer some very good advice.  One snippet of advice, however, seems to be prevalent among the majority of the books that I have read.  That is: write more books.  After that there are usually tips on how to write faster.  To some that works just fine.  I tried following that advice, though I was working a 40 plus hour real job and didn’t have a lot of time.  I wrote more, but got sloppy and put out work that I was not proud of.  At the time, I thought my writing was good.  I’m not necessarily talking about grammar and spelling, though I know they are import aspects as well.  I’m talking about the construction of the story itself.
One problem I found when I went back to my books was that I was not meticulous about the details and I think that’s essential.
     In one of my books I had a character carrying a backpack.  A little further in the story the backpack is mysteriously absent.  Some may not have noticed, but I should have.  I have since corrected that.
     In other cases, an explanation for an action, or a scene, is too confusing, or seems too unlikely.  Though my stories are fiction I need write them as if they are true, as if I were on a stand being drilled by a skilled attorney.
     Keeping characters true to their nature can be a problem for me sometimes.  I constantly have to ask myself if my character is responding to a certain situation as is true to their nature.  If not, I need to have a reasonable explanation of why the reaction is not what is expected.  This can take a little time.
     I’m all for a professional editor but I think an author needs to go through their work at least a couple of times before turning it over to an editor.  I have learned over time that this is something I need to do.  I’m looking for the abstract.  Are my characters behaving the way I want them to?  Are they funny?  Are they serious?  What makes them cry?  What makes them angry?  And, what about the plot?  How much should I reveal early on?  How much do I reveal as a surprise?  Do all the situations work together to form a suitable end?  What I’m getting at is that good syntax by itself doesn’t guarantee a good story.  I like what Dean Koontz has said.
 
I don't write a quick draft and then revise; instead, I work slowly page by page, revising and polishing.
     DEAN KOONTZ
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/dean_koontz.html
 
I've got a long list of books I wish I'd never written-and I've kept them all out of print for the past 20 years.
     DEAN KOONTZ
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/dean_koontz.html
 
     What I’ve learned is that I can’t roll out a decent book in just a short time.  I’ve tried it.  For me it doesn’t work.  I’ve decided to concentrate on the quality of the story as best I can and if it takes more time than I would like I’ll just have to live with it.  This is hard for me because I am impatient.  Before I’m even finished one book I’m ready to start on another.
     I would like to say that everything I put out from now on will be best-seller material.  Man, that would be great!  But the truth is I’m still learning.  Don’t count me out, though, I’ve still got my eye on the prize.
 
Thanks for reading
Gary

     The Doorway is a science fiction/fantasy trilogy involving three teenagers, Brainy, Wendy, and Thumper.  Because the main characters are ages thirteen and fourteen some would classify this series as middle grade.  I think that classification is too limiting.  The Doorway is intended for anyone who enjoys the science fiction/fantasy genre.’
     There is violence in the books, (but not graphic) and on more than one occasion the protagonists are fighting for their lives.  There are fears and there are tears, but often they are mixed with a little humor.  These are three young friends on an adventure of a lifetime.
     The stories move at a fairly-quick pace.  There is a lot of action, a decent plot, unique characters, and a realistically drawn world.
     The first book –Other World – is an introduction to the three protagonists; to their character, demonstrated by how they react to the different obstacles thrown in their way, and how they relate to each other in difficult situations.
These teenagers are unique in that they do not spew profanity or lewd comments, and they show genuine respect for each other.
     The second book (Night Stalkers) is a little darker.  They are faced with enemies who have no regard for human life.  They think of humans as food and, because the daylight hurts them, they hunt at night.
In the third book (The Wizard) the teens are seeking a man known as ‘the wizard’ to help them get home.  This book is a mixture of serious action and somewhat silly characters.
     This book is better than when I first published it.  Very recently I went through the entire trilogy making it a better read.  The changes I have made didn’t have a lot to do with typos and bad grammar, though I did have some corrections to make.  I was looking more at the substance of the story. I sought to make it more readable: to make descriptions and explanations clearer.  To make dialogue crisp and to stay true to that character’s voice.  Some description, or dialogue that I felt unnecessary I deleted.  At times in the story I felt I needed to add something.  Altogether, I think It’s a lot better book, but unfortunately, I am not perfect so there may be some imperfections.  I am truly open to suggestions provided it doesn’t include personal attacks.
 

I like to write.  I like building worlds and creating characters.  One problem I have is that I often get bored, or come up with a temporary case of writer's block.  Or maybe I just get distracted too easily.  Whatever the case that could be the reason I can't stick with one writing project.  Right now I am trying to finish up a short story to complete my book of short stories, as well as  two books that are in various phases of completion.  I have other book ideas that I am anxious to get to, but they'll have to wait. 
Soon I hope to post snippets of my work.  I'd love to get some feedback to see if I'm heading in the right direction.
I will be working on a advertising campaign in the near future.  Don't have a specific date in mind it's dependent on several things, money being a big factor.
This blog is short and simple.  This is just an introduction to a new chapter in my life.  More fuller blogs will come later.

 
I was on Amazon the other day looking up a book by Stephen King when I came across a book that I had never heard of.  It was titled “Awaken.”  It was a book of short stories.  What really got my attention was that the book had only a 2 star rating.  What’s more 69% of the star ratings were for 1 (one) star.  I couldn’t believe it.  Something was wrong.  Had I accidently slipped into an alternate universe?  I wondered why it had been rated so low so I looked for the reviews.  It only took me reading a couple of reviews to realize what was happening.
This was not the Stephen King of “The stand, It, Cujo” and numerous other blockbusters.  Now if this is the author’s real name I think he should use it, but it seems to me he is making no effort to distinguish himself from the great author Stephen King except for a small note under editorial reviews that is easy to overlook that says:  Please note: if you are looking for books by Stephen King, bestselling author of Doctor Sleep and the Shinning please visit his author page.  The word “author page” is in blue so one can click on it.  This note in itself is misleading.  One could assume that the publisher was merely pointing you to his author page.
Could it be that this author of “Awaken” and other subpar books seriously thought people were buying his books for what they were and not confusing him with bestselling author Stephen King?  Let’s check out that hypothesis.
​
Here are a few details:
Awaken.  RATING:  2.0.  REVIEWS:  103.  PUBLISHED: 01/07/2016.  PRICE:  $6.99
Messiah.   RATING: 1.0.  REVIEWS:  7        PUBLISHED: 04/10/2016.  PRICE:  $0.99
Descendants.  Rating: 2.3.  REVIEWS 90    PUBLISHED: 01/07/2016.  PRICE: $6.99
(The note referring to bestselling author Stephen King’s author page was more prominent, but still nothing saying that this author is not that bestselling author)
 
Beast Control.  RATING: 2.4.  REVIEWS 63.  PUBLISHED: 05/08/2015.  PRICE:  $4.99
Redstone.  RATING: 2.3.  REVIEWS: 81.  PUBLISHED: 12/12/2014    PRICE: $4.99
Blood rituals.  RATING: 2.5.  REVIEWS: 96.  PUBLISHED: 12/12/2014.  PRICE:  $4.99
 
Could this author really believe that he could get all these reviews without people confusing him with the bestselling author – bad reviews at that – and still move up on Amazon’s bestseller’s list?  I can’t believe that.  I think that he just couldn’t stand up on his own merits. 
This is an insult to authors (such as myself) who struggle to make a good book that people want to read and then have to go to the arduous task of promoting it.  I’m envious of just getting that many reviews in such a short period of time.  And what about the prices?  If I could sell a book with a 2.0 rating for nearly seven dollars I wouldn’t get so upset with a bad review.  I’m not the greatest writer, but I’m always striving to be better.  It irritates me when someone can move up so quickly by riding on someone else’s accomplishments.
I guess there’s only one thing I can do.  Tomorrow I go to the courthouse and see how much it costs to change my name to Dean Koontz.
 
Gary

     It has been nearly two weeks since I published “Demon” the second book of the two book series “Rifts”.  I have to admit that writing them was both fun and torturous.  When the thoughts and words flowed it was a great and euphoric experience.  But that was not always the case.  Sometimes I had to muddle through the process of writing.  I can’t always wait for inspiration.
    “Demon” climaxes what “Rifts” started.  It begins to show the real evil and those who are meant to oppose it.
I wasn’t sure that I would be able to publish “Demon” before the end of March, but I made it.  As I had stated in a blog earlier in the year I plan to make this my year.  I had been approaching my writing more like a hobby.  But I can’t do that anymore.  Time is short.
    I’ve published two books this year.  They were Rifts and Demon.  Combined they were over 120,000 words.  I am on my next book tentatively titled “The Awakening”.  I am a little over 20,000 words on it.  I’m hoping to have it published early next month.  I have an outline for the book after that, but one thing at a time.
     “The Awakening” is primarily a young adult novel.  It is to be a science fiction thriller story with a bit of horror rolled into the mix.  I can’t really give any more detail about what I plan because sometimes I don’t stay with my outline.  Along the way to the end I often see another route to take that seems more interesting.
     If I stay with my plans for the book after that I will just say that involves a church burning that happened years ago, a haunting, and a mystery.

​Gary

This is the second chapter of my upcoming novel.  Keep in mind it is not finished so there may be changes and it will have to undergo a proper editing.  But this will give you some idea whether this story will be something you would like to read.


CHAPTER 2
 
 
   It was the following evening when Jack Mason was finally released from jail.  He was never formally charged with anything, only held under suspicion.  He thought that they might try to charge him with DUI, but they didn’t.  He figured either they couldn’t or didn’t want to bother with it.  Whatever the case he was just glad to be out.
   As he was going through the process of his release he had asked one of the officers what was verdict on the old man.  He was told that the man had had a massive heart attack but didn’t go into any detail.
   As he made his way through town hunting for an auto mechanic shop that had a wrecker he thought about what he had seen at the old man’s house.  He could still recall the shadow that came out of the woods and through the man’s house.  In his mind he could see this shadow leaning over and disappearing into the man.  It had happened?  Hadn’t it?  Now he began to wonder.
   Maybe it was all some crazy hallucination.  He had drank quite a bit that day.  Still, there were many days in the last year that he had drank too much and never had an experience like that.
   He found a service station and garage that had a wrecker parked in the dirt to the side of the building next to a two-bay garage.  To the right of the garage was a small, dirty office with dingy yellow glass facing outside.  Taped to the door and windows was a notice of a sales on tires, and a notice that tune-ups, break jobs, and other minor mechanical work were done here.
   When Jack turned into the office a bald man in his early fifties was on the phone rapping out figures from a sheet of paper he was holding.
   “That’s all of them the man said after another minute.  “I’ll get back to you later, okay?  Yeah.  Bye.”  He hung up the phone and turned to Jack.  “What can I do for you, kid?”
   “I’ve got a car in a ditch, and I’m going to need some repairs done.”
   “Okay.  I’ll have a driver free here in a bit.  He’s finishing up a break job right now.  “I’ll need some directions to this car.”
   “Well, you can’t really see the car from the road.  I …”
   “Just ride with him.  I don’t need my driver looking for your car for an hour.”
   “Sure,” Jack answered.


   It was twenty minutes later when Jack rode out in a wrecker beside a bearded, heavyset man.  The man was just a bit older
than Jack.  He was twenty-five and Jack was nineteen.
   “How did you end up in a ditch?” the bearded man asked.
   “I was a little drunk.”
   “A little drunk?”  The man grinned.
   “Okay.  A lot drunk.”
   The man laughed loudly.  His laugh was somewhat high pitched, quite unlike his rough appearance.
   Jack could only smile.  Right now it just didn’t seem that funny to him.
   The bearded man’s laughter slowly faded.  “You gotta watch that drinkin’ an’ drivin’.  Cops are getting real tough on that.”  He turned toward Jack.  “You didn’t get a DUI, did you?”
   “No.  But I did spend a night in jail.”
   “What did they charge you with, reckless driving?”
   “No.  After I wrecked my car I walked to a house looking to borrow a phone and …the man living there had a heart attack.”  The words came out smoother than he thought they would.  Perhaps, he was beginning to believe that the old man had indeed simply died of a heart attack.  “When the cops arrived they kept me overnight to make sure that it wasn’t something that I did.”
   “Man, that’s a bunch of crap.  They shouldn’t be able to do that.”
   “Well, they did.”
   “Who’s this guy that had the heart attack?”
   “An older man.  I think his house is coming up here on the left.”
   “I don’t think I know anyone up this way.”
   Jack suddenly remembered the book he had hidden.  “Oh, you mind stopping by the man’s house a minute.  I dropped my watch when the cop handcuffed me.”
   “You’re not planning on going into the house, are you?”
   “Oh, no.  I’m just going to look out in the front yard.  If I can’t find it in a minute or two then I’ll forget about it.  You can just park on the side of the road if you want.”
   They went another couple of miles before the house came into view.  Jack pointed it out and the driver flipped on his flashers and pulled over on the right shoulder.
   Jack ran across the road.  Of course, there was no watch.  He hadn’t worn a watch in almost a year.  Time had meant little to him since the tragic death of his mom and dad.
   He found the book and stuffed it halfway into the back of his pants, covering it with his shirt.  He walked around the front yard another minute looking for his nonexistent watch then hurried across the street to the wrecker.
   “Find it?” the bearded man asked as Jack slipped into the cab of the wrecker.
   “No.  There’s no telling where it is.  I’ll just have to buy another one.”
   “Was it expensive?” the man asked as he pulled off the curb into the road.
   “No.  It was about a thirty dollar watch.”
   “You’re one of the few people I know who actually wears a watch.  Most people our age just look at our cell phones.”
   “Yeah.  Well I’ve always liked a watch.  And besides, my cell is in my car, broken.  So, that’s that.”
   The man nodded.  “Too bad.  By the way, people call me Ghetty.”  He stuck out his hand.  Jack shook it.  “I’m Jack.”
   “Jack.  I think I can remember that.  My real name is Ernest Kelly.  I got the name Ghetty from winning a spaghetti eating contest.  He laughed that high pitched laugh again. 
   “Spaghetti eating contest?  Is that a real thing?”
   “Sure.  It’s not as popular as hot dog eating, but some of us like it.”
   They were silent a moment before Jack spoke.  “There it is.  On the right.”  He laughed.  “You can see the path I took.”
   Ghetti pulled off the road close to the tire tracks Jack had left.  “This might take a while,” he said.
   It took a little over an hour to get the car out of the woods.  It required a long length of cable and a wench to work it close enough to get it hooked onto the wrecker.  It was only a few minutes after that that the wrecker pulled into the station.
   Jack waited in the little office of the mechanic shop for nearly thirty minutes while his car was being checked out.  He had pulled the blue book out and held it in front of him.  He was tempted to read it, but then decided that it would be better to read it later when his mind was so distracted.  He was about to put it away when the mechanic stepped into the office.  The bald man noted the book before speaking.
   “Here’s the damage,” the man began, “you’re going to need a new battery and cables.  The battery was knocked off its platform and shorted out.  The auto parts place around town should have all I need to fix that.’
   “Good.”
   “Yeah, but that’s not all.  You have a busted radiator as well.  I may have to order one.  There’s a chance that Burns and Son, a local shop that deals with automotive heating and cooling has one, but they’re closed for the weekend.  It will be Monday before I can find out.”
   Jack sighed.  “I guess I’ll have to wait then.”
   “Oh, and you’re going to need two more tires and a rim.  I imagine you’ll also need a front end alignment.  I’ll know more when we get everything else done.”
   “Looks like I’ll be here awhile.  Where can I find a decent hotel?”
   “The plaza.  It’s about three blocks up the road.  It’s not too fancy, but it’s clean.”
 
   He rented a room at the Plaza hotel for two nights hoping that that would be enough time to get his car up and running.  He counted his remaining cash after he had paid the clerk for the room, and found that he still had nearly three hundred dollars left.  That should do him, but if he came up short he could always call his uncle and ask him to send him more money.  If he didn’t mind a little begging.
   He settled underneath the shower soon after he had entered the room letting the constant stream of water wash away the dirt and fatigue that had spread over his body.  Afterwards, he changed into a set of new clothes he had bought at a clothing store only a few doors down from the hotel.
   For a while he tried to watch television, but his mind kept slipping to thoughts he’d just as soon forget.
   He switched the television off and stood up.  He started toward the door when the noticed the blue book that he had set on the dresser near the door.  His first thought was to just leave it where it was, but the fact was he had stolen the book.  If it was discovered that he had taken the book from the house the cops might try to connect him to the old man’s death.  Which they couldn’t, but it might earn him a few more days in their jail.
   He lifted the book and walked around the room a minute looking for a hiding place.  He came back to the dresser.  He had an idea.  He pulled the bottom drawer open.  It was as he suspected.  The drawer could be removed.  He removed the drawer and set the book on the floor inside the dresser, then slid the drawer over it.
   He left the hotel room a few minutes later to find a bar only a few blocks away.
Getting a beer he sat at a corner table isolating himself from the few patrons.  He sipped at his brew and listened to the juke box as memories began to seep past his defenses.  He thought of his mom and dad.  He missed the hell out of them.  What hurt the most was the feeling that he was responsible for their deaths.

Today’s blog is different from what I usually post.  I don’t usually do news stories, but I felt I had to respond to a story that is on the internet.

 
 The state of Georgia is considering enacting a law called the “Free Exercise Protection Act.”  This act would offer protection to faith-based organizations that refuse to provide services that they say violates their beliefs, including same sex marriages. 
Disney and Marvel, inclusive companies have threatened to take their business out of Georgia if such a law is passed.

I have been a fan of Marvel since I was old enough to read a comic.  They’ve come a long way since then, but they are still basically the same.  That is why what they are threatening to do really disturbs me.

First, I don’t like it when big business tries to bully a state.  People who live in Georgia should have the right to determine what is right for their state, not an outside business.  If the individuals connected to Marvel and live in Georgia want to protest the passage of this law that is fine.  They have a right.  Marvel should stay out of politics!

With almost any law there are parts of it that may be considered bad.  That is why it is essential that the wording be examined to make it as fair as possible.  Though I don’t like the idea of Marvel getting involved I think that if Marvel has a problem with the law they should get their attorneys to look over how the law is written and to determine what compromises can be made.

I agree with the bulk of the law.  I do not believe that a minister should be forced to perform ceremonies that is against his or her faith.  Nor do I believe that he or she should be forced to hire others who would be in a supportive nature (deacons, assistant pastor, teachers) who do not believe in the core values of the church.  Faith based meeting places, however, that are open to the public should be open to anyone regardless of how they believe.

I understand that there is some concern that discrimination against gays will increase because of this law.  I can’t say that it won’t, but the people’s right to their belief should also be considered.

My opinion is that if a service is performed (such as distribution of food to the poor, counseling, medical, educational) it should be for all.  I believe that most religious facilities already do that.

If we force religious institutions to behave the way the government wants them to then we become one step closer to a one government religion.  This law seems to me to be an effort to prevent such a thing.

​If Marvel doesn’t agree with such a law they should work on changing the minds and hearts of people not on bullying them.  Sometimes when you push people they push back!

I am happy to say that book one of “Rifts” and book 2 of “Rifts” (titled “Demon”) have now been published.
It is a great release to be finally finished with the writing of them.  It took a lot of hours of editing, rewriting, editing again, rewriting, reading again and again to make sure that it all made sense (as much as a science fiction, occult thriller can).

To me the most difficult thing was the characters.  This was not a straightforward story with one main character.  Several of the characters had prominent roles, and I had to bring them together in certain situations without making it seem like a series of accidental encounters.

Creating characters with their own unique personalities is a skill I’m still working on.  I feel like I’m getting better at it.  I’ll have to wait for the reviews to see what others think.

I put myself under pressure to finish these two books before the end of March.  Actually, I had intended on publishing it as a single book, but because it grew so much I decided to make it into two books.

I started on another book some time ago writing on it when I got tired of writing on “Rifts” but I soon had to put it to the side and pay full attention to the two book series in order to be able to finish them on schedule.  Now that ‘Rifts” is on the market I will be concentrating on my next book “The awakening.”

I really enjoy writing a book for the first time.  Not so much when I have to go back and edit.  I have just begun a process where when I finish the first draft of the book I set it aside for a day or two.  When I get back to it I will read the entire book slowly, one sentence at a time.  I usually find a lot of mistakes then.  I will wait a few days or so after that and read it again.  It is a real pain in the lower extremities to do that, but it works.
​
The awaking is an easier book to write so far.  The story revolves around one main character so I won’t be jumping around so much.  Unfortunately, this book will take a bit longer to write.  I had taken some time off my real job, but will have to return shortly so I can eat.
 
Gary Martin

This is the second half of the first chapter of THE AWAKENING.  It is a science fiction, young adult, thriller.    
Posting for this book will be a little slow because I am trying to finish up the second book of RIFTS.  I am hoping to have it published by the end of the month.

Anyway, here it is.  Like it or let me know what you think so far.

​He finally moved, taking wobbly steps to the front door.  The thought struck him that the man might still be alive.  If that was the case he needed to do something.  If the man was alive Jack might be his only chance to stay that way.

He tried the front door.  It was locked tight.  He slammed into it with his shoulder.  It didn’t budge.  He was too weak and the door was too strong.

The window was locked as well, but that was only a small problem.

He lifted one of the large rocks that encircled a small flower bed near the front walk.  He looked away as he smashed a section of glass just above the window latch, then reached in through the gaping hole and unlocked the window.  After raising the window he removed the shards of glass from the window sill and climbed into the house.

He knelt beside the old man.  The blood was flowing in rivulets, making small, dark puddles on the carpet.  He checked the man’s pulse at his neck.  Nothing.

He reached for his phone that was usually stuffed inside his front pocket.  It wasn’t there.  He remembered that he had left it at the house.  He had left it there on purpose.  He had wanted to be alone.  To detach himself from all communication.  Thinking about it now maybe he should have just cut the phone off.  He would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.

He looked about.  Surely the guy had a cell phone lying about.  It took him a minute, searching the small house before he finally spotted the phone.  It wasn’t a cell, however.  It was a house phone and it was attached to the wall in the tiny room off the hallway.  The little room contained a desk and several shelves of books.  Apparently, it was used as a study.

He was lightheaded, perhaps more than when he first arrived at the house.  He guessed that some of it could be attributed to the trauma of seeing a murder committed (if that was what he truly saw) in addition to the effects of the alcohol.

He punched in nine, one, one and waited for someone to answer.  In a few moments a lady came on the phone.  “Can I help you?” she asked.

“There’s been a murder,” he blurted out.

“What is your name?” the lady asked.  Before he can answer she continued.  “Are you in any danger?”

“No,” he answered.  “I don’t think so.”

“And your name?”

“Uh … he trailed off.“  He was reluctant to answer.  He didn’t relish the idea of meeting the cops in his condition.  He could very well be charged with driving under the influence.  This time he could lose his license and possibly face some jail time.  He already had two DUI’s under his belt.

“Your name, sir?” the lady continued.

“Uh, Jack.”  He decided it didn’t matter.  He had to wait around for the cops to tell them what he saw.  His conscious wouldn’t allow him to just run away.  “Jack Mason.”

“And what is your address, sir?

Jack figured that the lady was just confirming the address.  Surely she had to means to pull up the address from the telephone number.

“Just a minute.”  He looked around the room.  The desk drew his attention.  He stumbled over to it and slid out the top drawer.  There was a lot of loose papers of various sizes.  A couple of them looked like receipts.  There was also a small blue book.  He fumbled through the contents until he found a receipt with an address on it.  He returned to the phone and called out the address to the operator.

“Okay, sir,” the woman said.  “Please stay at the scene if you’re not in any danger.  Police and ambulance are on the way.”
“Thank you,” he said, and hung up.

He started to close the drawer, then stopped.  The blue book caught his attention.  It was about six inches by nine inches and had a hard cover.  Written at the top of it in red ink was the words “The find.”  He lifted the book from the drawer.  He thought that a curious title.  He opened it up just to see what it was about.
 
May 25, 2015
 
I was wandering through the woods today getting a little exercise, and deciding on a suitable speech to give to the Bangor High graduating class, when I ventured beyond my normal trip through the woods.  I suddenly came into a wide clearing and beheld an unusual sight.  At the center of the clearing was an almost perfectly round body of water.  It was silver in color and only reflected the sky in small distorted patterns.  It was the strangest thing I have ever seen.  As I approached it it rippled as though a light breeze had swept across it, although I could feel no wind.

I thought of placing my hand in the water to feel its texture, but was reluctant because of the odd way the water looked.  Instead I found a small tree branch and stuck it into the water.  The water instantly bubbled, then something seemed to grab the stick and pull it downward.  I fought it and was finally able to pull the stick out.  I looked at the end that had gone into the water.  The bark was gone.  It was white, and smooth as though it had been sanded.  I walked away from the pool of liquid (I could no longer think of it as simple water) not knowing what to make of it.  If I can locate the owner of the property I will inquire of the strange pool.  If finding the owner proves to be too much of a challenge I may take a sample of the liquid and have it analyzed.
 
Jack skimmed through the book then closed it.  It seemed to be some kind of diary, or journal.  Either way it was a strange entry, and he got the sense that the book had some importance.  He guessed that he should turn it over to the cops when they got here, but that didn’t set too well with him.  He didn’t trust the cops.  The truth could be staring them straight in the face and they wouldn’t see it.

He could hear the first faint sounds of a siren in the distance.  It would be either the cops or the medics.  He didn’t have much time to make a decision.

It was crazy.  It made no sense at all, but his instinct was to hide the book.  To hide the book until he could come back and read it.  It was utterly insane, but the urge wouldn’t let up.  This book had some significance.  He was sure of it.

He slid the drawer closed and ran out the front door with book in hand.  He ran to the edge of a stand of trees to the right of the house.  The ground was leaden with pine straw.  He pushed the book underneath some pine straw.  It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but he didn’t have the time, nor the clear head to think of a better place.  The screaming of the siren had become loud.  He had just enough time to get back inside the house.

He had only been in the house a few moments when the first police car pulled into the driveway.  He knelt down beside the old man wondering if there were anything he should have done, or could now do.  Perhaps he should have tried CPR.  But he had checked the man’s carotid pulse and there was nothing.  And judging from the blood that was issuing from the man’s mouth, eyes, and nose, it sort of confirmed that the man was already gone.

He stood up just as the first policeman burst into the house.

“Freeze!” the policeman yelled.  He sounded like a commando.  His gun was drawn and held in front of him with both hands.
Jack felt like he really did freeze.  For a few moments, as he stared down the barrel of the gun, he was unable to speak, or even move.

“On the floor!” the policeman ordered.

Jack broke his trance and dropped to his knees.  He placed his hands on his head as he had seen on numerous television shows.

Another policeman entered the house.  He was a lot calmer.  He walked straight over to Jack, pulled his hands down and handcuffed his wrists behind him.  The commando policeman returned to his holster.

“Stand up,” the policeman next to Jack said, as he helped him up.

When Jack got to his feet he turned around to face the policeman.  At once he noticed the policeman’s name tag.  The name was Mike Anderson.  Jack surmised that this policeman must be the one in charge.

Anderson turned slightly to look at Commando.  Without talking Commando knew what the other policeman wanted.  Commando dropped down to check on the old man.

“He’s dead alright,” Commando announced after a few seconds.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked Jack.

“Jack.  Jack Mason.”

“Mind if I check your wallet for an ID?

“No.  Go ahead.”

Officer Anderson slid the wallet out of Jack’s back pocket.  He looked over the driver’s license.  It seemed to be in order.  He slid the wallet back into his pocket.  “What happened here?” he asked.

“I stopped by here to use the phone.  I … I ran off into a ditch about a half mile from here.”

“Have you been drinking, sir?” Officer Anderson asked.

“eh … a little.”

Two EMT’s in gray smocks entered the house carrying a stretcher and a bag of medical instruments, including a defibulator.  They went directly to the old man.  The commando cop moved back to give them more room, but he already knew that there wasn’t nothing else they could do.

“What happened?” Officer Anderson repeated.

“I stopped on the other side of the driveway a minute before coming to the front door.  While I stood there I saw … a shadow …or something that looked like a shadow, coming out of the woods.”

Anderson looked at him questioningly.  “A shadow, huh?’

“Yes.  Just a shadow.”  From his peripheral vision he could see Commando looking at him.  He turned toward him.  The cop looked away.  Jack noted how pale the cop’s face had become.

“So did you see who was making this shadow?”

“No.  Eh   there was no one there.”

“No one there?  What the hell does that mean?”

Jack shook his head.  “I saw only a shadow.  It came out of the woods and passed through the corner of the house.”  He wondered if he would be telling this story –which seemed quite unbelievable even to himself --if he weren’t so snockered.

“And I guess this shadow killed the man on the floor?”

The two EMT’s had already pronounced the man dead and were beginning to lay him on the stretcher they had brought in.  They paused to listen.

As outrageous as it now seemed to him he could see no way out, but to continue the story.  “I went across the driveway to a dark spot where I couldn’t be seen and looked through the living room window.  The man was sitting in the chair when the shadow entered the room.”

“And what did the man do?”

“Nothing.  The old man apparently didn’t see him.  The shadow walked right up to the front of the man and … he just kind of fell into him, disappearing.  The man jumped up like he had been shocked and then fell over dead.  A second or two later the shadow came back out of him.”

“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard,” said commando.  “I think we need to haul his butt In and charge him with murder.”

“Let’s take a step at a time, Kenneth,” said Officer Anderson.

“I didn’t kill him!  Look at him.  There are no external marks on him.  How would I have killed him without leaving marks?”

“If I might interject something,” began the head EMT, a tall, gaunt looking man, “it looks to me like the man died from a massive heart attack.  But, of course, nothing is definite until an autopsy is completed.”

Officer Anderson nodded.  “I think you’re right, but it’s best we treat it like a homicide until we know otherwise.”  He looked to Kenneth, the commando cop.  “Contact the Coroner and the forensic guys.”

“Sure thing, Mike.”

​Officer Anderson placed a hand on Jack’s upper arm and led him toward the door.  “Looks like you’re going to be a guest of the county until we can figure this out.”
 

I've just published 'Rifts' and hope to get out the second book of the two book series at the end of March.  Meanwhile there is another book in the works.  This is also a supernatural thriller.  I hope to add a little preview of this upcoming book (which will be a few months down the road) every so often.  If you've got a minute leave me a comment telling me what you think.

Keep in mind that proper editing won't be done until the book is finished, though I try to keep it error free as I go.

Thanks.
Now here's the first installment.


THE AWAKENING.
 
 
CHAPTER 1
 
 
He awoke suddenly to find the car careening down an embankment into a curtain of blackness.  His right foot frantically searched for the break, abruptly found it, and then slammed it to the floor.  But by then the car was moving way too fast.  The wheels of the Intrepid grabbed as best they could, but the car continued for a while, sliding over weeds, pine straw, and dirt, plowing headlong through patches of underbrush to sideswipe a lanky old pine tree.  It seemed both an instant and an eternity before the tires found solid purchase and the auto groaned and squeaked to a stop gently kissing the trunk of a massive, white oak.

Jack Mason exhaled a lung full of hot, bated breath then nervously swiped back a lock of his coal black hair.
Something spit and spewed from the bottom of the car.  Smoke and steam wafted out from the hood like an apparition drifting off into the night.

He twisted the key in the ignition, but already knew what to expect.  The car was dead.  Even the dashboard lights failed to blink.

He opened the driver side door into the velvet blackness and swung his legs out.  When he did his foot kicked against an opened can of beer that had fallen into the floorboard.  He instantly reached down and retrieved it.  There was only a little bit of the foamy liquid remaining.  He brought the can to his lips and drank what was left.  He crushed the can and tossed it into the pile of empty beer cans that littered the passenger side floorboard.

He righted the large red and white Igloo cooler that lay canted next to him on the edge of the seat.  He opened it and removed the last can of beer submerged in the icy water.

He had passed out.  That was a cold realization.  He had only come awake when the car left the road and began its jarring descent down this wooded landscape.

He thought of his cell phone.  He had it in the seat beside him when he left the house, but it was no longer there.  He started moving around to see if the phone had fallen and somehow slid under the seat beside him.  When he did something caught under his feet.  He reached down to see what it was.  It was his cell phone.

The phone was dark.  A portion of the back cover was missing.  The front glass was broken.  He pressed several buttons to see if he could bring it back to life.  Nothing helped.  The phone was dead.

He pushed himself out of the car and struggled to his feet, quickly grabbing the top of the car with his free hand.  His legs were wobbly as if they were made of soft rubber.

Where was he?  He stared out into the blackness of woods while he waited for a bit of strength and balance to return to his half inebriated and shaken body.  Gradually he loosened his grip on the roof of the car and popped the top on the can of beer.  For a moment it foamed over, then it was to his mouth where he took a big swallow.

The last real location he could recall was the Mity Darn Quick convenience store.  He had stopped there for a twelve pack.  He wasn’t sure how far he had driven since he had left the store, but it was far enough to have finished nearly all of the twelve pack.

What next?  Any thought of fixing the car himself was out of the question.  A mechanic he was not.

He could spend the night in the car.  That was an option.  Of course he’d be taking a chance that some cop would notice where he had left the road and cut a swath down the embankment.  If they found him in the car he would surely go to jail.  If he was convicted of another DUI that would be three.  That would make him a three time loser.  Not good.

He sighed.  Okay, first he’d find a way out of here back to the paved road.  From there he’d figure out what to do next.
He began to climb and stumble his way up the trail of flattened weeds and scrub trees broken by the onslaught of the automobile.

At the top of the hill he stood for a moment on the dirt shoulder of the two lane blacktop.  The night was unusually dark.  A scatter of clouds, like thick strands of dark cotton, blanketed the moon and most of the stars.  When he looked to his right, down the paved road, he saw only darkness like a deep, lightless tunnel.  There was nothing there to induce him to head in that direction.

He finished the beer that he had been carrying and tossed the empty can across the street.  It ‘clanged’ on the hard asphalt momentarily silencing the serenade of crickets that were hidden somewhere in the darkened underbrush.

He looked to his left and spotted a street lamp about a hundred yards away on the opposite side of the road.  Just behind it, caught in its soft ambient glow, was the faint outline of a house.

He started in that direction.  If he could persuade the tenant to call him a taxi (provided this area had taxis) he’d have the driver take him to a hotel.  Sometime in the morning, or possibly early afternoon, he would decide on what he needed to do.
The alcohol was working on him as he shambled along the shoulder of the highway, occasionally stumbling and laughing about it.  What should have been a serious situation was passed off as just another slice of his muddled life.

He came adjacent to the house before he was fully aware of it.  It stood upon a slight hill across the street from him.  It looked down on him as if it were a brick sentry warily eyeing his approach.

His breathing was labored as if he had walked for miles, though in his mind it seemed like mere moments.  That was one of the unique things about alcohol.  It seemed to possess the magic to manipulate time.  To shorten or lengthen its cadence as it saw fit.

He looked up at the house as he crossed the road.  It was not very big.  A single story.  A two bedroom, he guessed.  Nevertheless, it looked imposing sitting on the hill, its brick structure nestled on three sides by thick woods.  A single light, like a malevolent eye, shone dully from a front room.

He puffed as he fought his way up the slight incline of the driveway.  By the time he got to the top he was panting furiously.  He leaned over to prop his hands upon his knees.  His lungs felt as if they were going to explode.  He stepped off the driveway heading away from the house.  He needed the support of a good, sturdy tree.  Just for a few moments.  It might be a bad idea to show up at a stranger’s house all out of breath.  He didn’t need to scare anyone into calling the cops on him.

He stepped into an area of deep darkness to an old sweet-gum-tree.  He slipped under the branches and sat down against the trunk.  The street lamp was behind him, its rays successfully blocked by the big tree.  To his left the light from the house was much too faint by the time it stretched its way to him.

After a few minutes his breathing had steadied somewhat.  He pushed to his feet and was about to head back over to the driveway when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.  He turned his head.  From his position he could see one side of the house and a little behind the house.

Something was moving through the woods behind the house.  He wasn’t quite sure what it was.  It looked to be a blackened outline, but was also a bit luminous.  It was as if the object contained some kind of inner light.  It reminded him of a small lamp with a low wattage light bulb covered by a black lampshade.

As he watched in sheer fascination he noted that the adumbrated form did not bend and curve with the contours it slid across as a normal shadow would have.  Instead it moved through the woods as if it were a physical being.

At first he thought that it was a person.  But then he realized that he could see the trees and brush through the figure as if he were looking into a fog.

When the figure came closer stepping into the clearing that encircled the house Jack could swear that this was the silhouette of a man.  To him this appeared to be a rather tall man of medium bulk.  There were still no clear definitions of the face, or sharp lines to the arms or legs so it could still be a woman, though his intuition told him that it was a man.

Jack watched the shadow figure walk straight into the brick wall adjacent to the corner of the house, and to his utter amazement the shadow wasn’t stopped by the structure.  It disappeared into the wall as if it were being soaked into the very fabric of the bricks.

He was momentarily stunned.  He didn’t know what to make of what he had just witnessed.  He was suddenly curious as to what had just happened.  Had it gone into the house?  Or was it just an apparition that had vanished into the night as quickly as it had appeared?

He crossed the driveway to a spot a few yards across from the living room window but far enough away from the window to still be in the shadows.  He could see into the living room through partially open curtains.  A plump, gray haired man was reclining in a black leather recliner.  He was half dozing, half watching, a big screen TV that sat a few yards in front of him.
The scene looked too normal.  For a long moment he was about to dismiss what he thought he had seen only a few seconds ago and credit it to his half-drunk state and an overactive imagination.  Then it appeared through the interior wall, its somewhat hazy body like a reflection off of dirty glass.

Jack felt as though as icy finger were running the length of his spine.  He had a very bad feeling about all of this.
The old man did not seem to notice when the shadow stepped directly in front of him.  He continued to gaze at the television screen as though bored.

Jack couldn’t understand it.  The old man was looking straight at the shadow, but there wasn’t the faintest reaction from him.  Couldn’t he see the gray, fuzzy outline standing before him?  Or was it something with Jack himself?  Maybe it was he who was seeing something that wasn’t there not the other way around.

The shadow was still as though looking down on the man contemplating its next move.  Then, slowly, it stepped forward bent down, and fell over on top of the man melting into the man’s flesh until there was nothing left of it.

The old man suddenly flailed his arms wildly and pushed himself straight up in his seat gasping as if all the air in his lungs had fled.  After only a few moments he fell straight down, his whole body as stiff as wood, to hit flat on his face.

For the next minute the only sounds were the gentle murmur of the television and Jack’s own nervous breathing.
He watched with a mixture of both terror and awe as the shadow came out of the man into a kneeling position on the carpet.  Then, to Jack’s horror the shadow turned its blank, gray head to stare through the living room window.  To stare directly at him.

Luckily Jack was still in a darkened spot out of the rays of light that came through the living room window.  Even so, he stood as still as possible in case whatever this was could detect movement from him.

After long moments the shadow figure finally pushed to its feet.  It turned away from the window and walked back out the way it had come.

For several moments Jack remained frozen in place afraid to even breathe too hard.

This didn’t happen he told himself.  No, it couldn’t have!  It was the alcohol.  Somehow it was causing him to hallucinate.
Yet, the old man was still on the floor.  And now Jack thought that he could see blood trickling from the man’s nose, ears, and mouth.